


The Lost Brother

by yourPerfume



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Albus Dumbledore Being an Idiot, Anarchism, Anarchy, Canonical Child Abuse, Gen, Harry Potter Has a Twin, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Misguided Albus Dumbledore, No character bashing, POV Original Character, Rating May Change, References to Off Screen Eating Disorder, Sibling Bonding, Sibling Love, Swearing, Warnings May Change, angry children, he tries, who is not a dickhead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:33:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24036667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourPerfume/pseuds/yourPerfume
Summary: Jack Potter is born 12 minutes after his twin brother Harry. This is not a large gap, but when fate and prophecies are involved, it might as well be an ocean. He enters the world, not as the seventh month dies, but as the eighth month is born. Officially the Unchosen One; in fate and later in life.Jack is pushed through the British foster care system, with no knowledge of magic, and no knowledge of his twin. It isn’t the worst childhood, but it certainly isn’t the best. We meet him as he meets Professor McGonagall, and everything spirals from there.Includes Draco Malfoy being shouted at, Hermione Granger saving the day (numerous times), and Harry Potter getting a shot at family.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 29





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I am so EXITED! It tink this is going to be really fun to write.
> 
> I update as I write, and only edit roughly, so feel free to point out mistakes and be ready for periodic editing frenzies.
> 
> English is not my first language, please let me know if something is unclear, makes no sense, or is just not culturally sound.

As Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall leave a young Harry Potter on a doorstep in Surrey, a frazzled Hagrid soldiers on with another young boy. Hagrid doesn’t know why, exactly, Harry and Jack can’t stay together, but he supposes Dumbledore knows best - he always has before.

And so it’s with a heavy heart, only just starting to nurse the fragile hope from You-Know-Who’s downfall, that a very friendly half-giant man carries a babe (so fragile, so small, he could hide Hagrid’s beard) on Sirius Black’s flying motorbike, to a doorstep in London. It’s not the cleanest doorstep Hagrid has ever seen, and there’s no sign proclaiming Wool’s Orphanage, but it is definitely the right address.

Hagrid double checks his papers regardless. And then double checks again. It feels really, really wrong to leave a defenceless baby on a cold stoop with nothing but a blanket and a letter. But what can Hagrid do? He’s been told what needs doing, and he’s not someone to question orders, especially not orders from Dumbledore. He frets and fuzzes, hesitating to let go … Jack opens his eyes. Hagrid has stalled for too long, the calming draught must have worn off.

“Hello, little lad,” Hagrid greets the boy. He runs a finger over soft baby sheeks, providing what comfort he can as small sniffles start emerging from the bundle. “I’m so sorry, but please stay still. It’s just for the night, and then someone will be here in the morning. Ye can do it, right lad? Ye’re a tough little thing, aren’t ye?”

The baby looks at him with big questioning eyes. Hagrid feels like they’re full of blame, which can’t be right, Jack’s a _baby_ , he doesn’t even know what blame _is_. This thought doesn’t comfort Hagrid in the slightest.

He hugs the baby to his chest for a moment. Merlin, but Hagrid hates this. Tears collect in his eyes, and they start falling liberally as he places Jack in a basket and the basket on the stoop and then steps away. He straddles the bike, fingers flexing as soft cries fill the air. He steels himself, turns the handle, punches the invisibility button, and he’s off.

He looks back, but it’s no use. He’s crying so much he can’t even see where he’s flying. It’s dangerous, Hagrid knows, but he doesn’t have the mental space to care. Small Potter twins, all alone, not even each other to care for. Hagrid sets course for the Hog's Head - he needs ale, lots of it, and company that won’t ask questions.

He speeds up and looks forward.

*

Wool's Orphanage closed sometime in the 1970’ies. It was converted into a complex of social housing, with tenants that, though not unaccustomed to the less picturesque sides of life, are still rightly concerned to be woken by a screaming baby at four in the morning. It’s a young woman in frighteningly tall stilettos that contacts the police when she finds a baby in front her flat building, on her way home from the clubs.

A young policeman arrives, looking equally as concerned and confused as the young woman. They read the letter together, and though they have no idea who ‘Dumbledore’ is, they quickly agree that he is a wholly irresponsible individual. Little Jack Potter is taken to the station, the young woman goes up to sleep it off, and a week later the flat complex has all but forgotten about the baby that was left on their collective doorstep.

Jack Potter is given to a foster family - the Wilsons. Mr Wilson is a bland man, a little boring, with a very boring 9-5 office job. He travels frequently, so he’s not home much. Mrs Wilson is very kind, and works as a caretaker for a mentally disabled girl by the name Sarah (Sarah is very, very nice, and she likes Jack a lot because he doesn’t get hurt when she grabs him a little too rough. Jack likes her a lot too, even if she is seven years older. She’s Jack’s first real friend).

They talk about adopting Jack in the beginning, when he’s still only a baby. But then Mrs Wilson gets pregnant three months after Jack’s placement, and the adoption plans are put on hold. They are still on hold when Rebecca is five and Jack is seven, but Jack figures it’s fine. He likes it with the Wilsons, with Rebecca and occasionally Sarah, and it doesn’t really matter that he still calls his foster mum Mrs Wilson, because she loves him and he loves her. She’s not his parent, not really, but it’s fine because she’s kind and she takes care of Jack.

At least it's fine until the divorce. When Jack is eight and Rebecca is six (and Sarah is fifteen), Mr Wilson announces that he’s leaving for Singapore because of a job opportunity. Mrs Wilson tells him that she is not, under _any_ circumstances, coming along. The papers are signed the following week, and Mr Wilson is soon gone.

It doesn’t take long for Mrs Wilson to realise that her salary can’t support a mortgage and two kids. She sells the house and moves into a flat with only one bedroom, that Jack and Rebecca share. They stop eating fancy specialty foods and are both moved to public school. Mrs Wilson tries her hardest to make everything okay.

But it’s not enough. Mrs Wilson works and works, curses her ex-husband to Hell and back, but the money still dwindles. So, a man comes, and more papers are signed. He looks at Jack with poorly concealed pity, grabs his hand and leads him away from his sister and his almost-but-not-really mum. Jack has a feeling they won’t see each other again.

Before Jack really knows what happened with Mr Wilson, he is with a new family, with none of the Wilson’s stability. Here, the parents are barely ever home, and there are three new strange kids that don't like Jack. Jack dislikes them right back. It’s a shaky foundation at best, and to the surprise of absolutely noone, it only lasts a couple of months.

Jack accumulates foster families like middle class women accumulate tracksuits. His longest placement lasts seven months before the family gives up. Jack's file is bursting at the seams in his allocated social worker's office. Words like ‘hostile’, ‘angry’, and ‘trust-issues’ are repeated several times throughout.

Accidental magic happens often in those years. School bullies find themselves tripping over air, foster parents with a tendency to shout find their milk has gone unexpectedly bad. One memorable time he blows up a china cabinet. For some really lucky reason, none of these incidents make it into his file - Jack figures his problems will probably double if that ever happens. Jack knows there’s something not quite right about him, but he knows nothing of magic - he doesn’t even know he has a brother.

He grows. He spends his time reading, yelling at his foster parents, and defending his friends from bullies. He gains a reputation as a troublemaker but he doesn’t really care; he has his friends at school, the one consistent thing through a very tumultuous time, and he has himself. One day, when he’s grown, he’s going to have a place that is his, and only his; where no one can throw him out or take him away. He can cope until then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, please feed me kudos if you liked it <3
> 
> More to come!


	2. A Stern Scottish Witch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A letter arrives, and so does Minerva McGonagall. Both could have gone a lot worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoop de doop, here we go! I've been more productive today than I've been collectively the last month, and you get to reap the benefits!
> 
> IMPORTANT: I’ve added tags for swearing and for a mention of an eating disorder. I’ve also move the rating to T because Jack really swears a lot in his internal monologue.

Jack Potter has just knocked Max Broker to the ground when a bird screeches and lands on his shoulder. Now, Jack is used to some fairly odd things happening around him, but this one just about tops it. Broker looks startled where he’s sprawled on the ground, clutching his cheek, because Jack really knows how to throw a punch. Mahnoor Saeed is so surprised, she forgets to cry for a bit.

It’s late July, but they’re all here, in school, because their parents and guardians have better things to do than look after their kids. Well, Noor’s don’t, but Noor likes her friends, so she probably asked to come along. It’s surprisingly alright, being in school during the summer holidays, as long as there are no classes. It would be better without Broker, but you can’t have everything.

The three children are still staring dumbly when the bird apparently gets fed up. With an insistent hoot, it drops a letter on the ground and takes to the skies. There’s something weirdly superior looking in the way it's flying.

Jack looks at the letter. It’s fancy, parchment and big swoopy green letters, addressed to Jack.

MR. J. POTTER  
The Playground  
Pillmore School and Daycare Program  
78 U. Kempt Road  
London

“What is it, Jack?” Noor asks nervously. There’s still a bit of an edge to her voice, and Jack knows it will stay there for the rest of the day, the way it always does when Broker decides to be a dick. God, Jack should have punched harder.

“I don’t know, Noor.” Jack keeps his voice gentle, careful. “Do you think we should go look at it?”

“Oh, um, yes … Should we … “ Jack knows Noor is trying to ask if they should go their spot, but doesn’t want to in front of Broker. Who is still staring off into the sky where the owl vanished, like an _idiot_.

“Let’s go,” says Jack as he grabs her hand, rushing away before the bully gathers enough brain cells to follow. They run along the fence that separate the small playground from the busy London road, and duck behind the janitor’s shed. Here, bushes grow thick and thorny. They hurt to get through, but if you make it to the other side, there’s a little hollow where Jack and his friends - Noor, Pete and Nick - have arranged fours cut tree stumps, pilfered when the central courtyard tree was cut down a couple of months ago. Tree stumps are heavy business for four ten year olds, but they managed, and the payoff was worth it. Now, they have a space in school that is completely and wholly _theirs_.

The safe haven is more necessary than Jack likes to admit, or even think about. All four of them, even sweet Noor, have problems they can’t solve. They need a place to get away. Mahnoor has enough money, but her mother shouts all the time - about Noor’s clothes, her weight, about the way she wears her hijab. Nikola has no money, because no one will hire her mum, a Serbian single parent with an accent, in well paying jobs. Pete’s big sister stopped eating when she was thirteen and she still hasn’t started again. He’s afraid she’s just going to get thinner and thinner, until she disappears from sight.

Jack has lived in eight different houses in the last three years. He still dreams about his sister Rebecca Wilson, and her mum Mrs Wilson (or Ms Smith, she’s technically not a Wilson anymore). He can still hear big Sarah’s clapping hands if he concentrates hard enough. He still shouts at adults at the drop of a hat, and punches kids that deserve it. He still, after three years, wants a family with all of his heart.

This little nook on the ground, with four tree stumps and three friends, is the closest Jack has come to family and safety since Mr Ives came and took him away from Rebecca and Mrs Wilson. He doesn't really know what love is, but he imagines it feels something like Noor’s small hand in his, like Pete’s warm eyes and warmer hugs, like Nick’s sharp tongue and barking laughter. And sure, not having parents till sucks, but it sucks a little less when you’ve got someone by your side.

All these feelings, this warmth and gratitude, floods through Jack as he drags Katie through the bushes and sees Nick and Pete already sitting on their assigned tree stumps. Jack smuggled a knife to school one day and carved their initials, so they could see which stumps belonged to who. Not that there’s alot to get confused about, but Jack likes owning stuff. It’s a byproduct of not having a lot.

“Nick!” Noor shouts the moment she’s through the bushes, hijab a frightful mess and scratches up her arm. “Something really, really weird happened! Jack punched Broker because he was mean to me, and I was really scared that a teacher would come, but then an _owl_ landed on his head, Jack’s, that is, and it had a letter, and _look_!”

Before Jacks can even start to process that mess of words, Noor yanks his letter from his hand and starts waving it in Nick’s face. Nick leans back and hold her hand up in surrender. They all know Noor is difficult to stop when she’s first gotten started.

“Noor! That’s mine!” Jack knows she doesn’t mean anything by it, but honestly, it’s got his name printed front and center.

Noor completely ignores his tone, hands back the letter with hands that are almost vibrating with excitement. “I know, I know, open it already!”

Jack snatches the letter back, sits down on his stump and tears it open. All his friends lean closer to get a look. They hesitate for a moment when they see the seal, lots of colours and animals, done up like a coat of arms. It looks fancy. It looks like something a rich person might carry around. Jack isn’t rich, so what the hell is going on?

“Dear Mr Potter,” Jack reads aloud. “We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on the first of September. We await your owl by no later than the thirty first of July. Yours sincerely, Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress.”

Jack’s voice tapers of and the following silence is abruptly broken by Nick.

“What the fuck. Do you suppose it’s real?” Nick sounds bewildered, which … Jack doesn’t know what to do with that. Nick always knows what to do, what to say. She's the practical one, with the cold head, the leader of their little group. If she doesn't have the answers, Jack sure isn’t going to.

“I have no idea,” Jack exclaims. He shoves the letter at Pete and springs up from his seat. Pacing helps, hands buried deep in unruly black hair. What is going on?

“Well,” Pete say hesitantly, “If it is, are you going to accept? I mean, it explains all the …” Pete faffs his hand about, gesturing towards Jack, who stops pacing, because yeah, it really does, doesn’t it?

Pete and Jack became friends because Pete heard Jack speaking with a snake at a school trip to the zoo. It was a really big, but quite friendly, anaconda. Jack had thought that Pete would for sure tell a teacher, and then Mr Ives would find out, and then everything would go even more to shit, but Pete just asked for a translator. He then proceeded to bond with an enormous snake over feeling a connection to Brazil without ever having been there. Jack was the one who spoke to snakes, but by the end of the trip Pete was firmly established as the Weird One and part of the group.

Nick and Noor have also heard the stories about sour milk and busted china. They’ve seen Broker trip over nothing when Jack gets mad enough. They all know that Jack is not strictly speaking normal, but until now it’s been unspoken and quietly accepted. It’s true that a letter from Witch School certainly would explain some things.

“I don’t know.” Jack's voice has gone unusually quiet. He doesn’t often second guess himself. “I mean, I would probably have to leave you, right?”

The other three go quiet. They clearly hadn’t thought about that. But then Nick speaks up, voice firm and sure, no hint of the previous confusion.

“If you do, it’ll be alright. We’ll write and call, and you’ll come back for Christmas and tell us all about your weird witch things and show us some magic. You’re not really leaving just because you go to some new school, you know. We’ll still be you best friends.”

Noor nods firmly. “You said for life, and you meant it. Maybe you can even magic Broker into space if you get good enough?”

The tensions fizzles away, and suddenly they’re laughing, all of them, heavy loud honking laughter. By the time they stop, Jack head is against Pete’s shoulder, warm and solid. Noor is back to almost vibrating, and Nick looks determined and satisfied. Jack let’s the last little bit of tensions leave his stomach. It’s going to be okay. He has his friends and he has himself, and it’s going to be okay.

*

It’s bloody well not going to be okay. There’s a tall, stern looking woman in front of the house where Jack is currently staying. If she wasn't wearing a green pointed hat, Jack would think she just finished filming one of those royalist BBC dramas. As it is, she is wearing a green pointed hat, and Jack gets the feeling this is one of the few authority figures he might not want to piss off within the first ten minutes. Which is not what he needs after a long day, because for Jack, that takes significant effort. Effort he can’t spare right now, with witchy letters abound, and the fact that he might have to leave his friends.

And so he does something that is, as he will understand later, quite ill-advised. He squares his shoulders, crosses his arms and snaps “who are you?” with the mightiest glare a ten year old can produce.

The woman doesn’t react, safe for raising one unimpressed eyebrow. “I am Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You may refer to me as professor McGonagall, professor, or ma’am. Now, I believe you have received a letter?”

Her accent is thick and Scottish, but Jack can hear the derision easily enough. He angrily shoves his hand in his backpack, the one he always carries, the one that hold his few significant possessions. He holds out the letter defiantly, as if daring this professor type to say a single word about its crumbled state.

To Jack’s great surprise, she says nothing. Not even a tut under her breath. She doesn’t react outwardly at all, nor does she move to take the letter from him.

“Very good, Mr Potter. Now, shall we go inside so I can speak with your guardians?” She’s already moving to the door, evidently not expecting any fuss. Jack moves to stop her before he really makes a decision to. He knows it’s not that simple.

“The Stone’s are not home, professor,” he interrupts, the title tasting bitter in his mouth.

“Well, when _will_ they be home, Mr Potter?” There’s a more impatient lilt to her voice now, as though he’s being difficult on purpose. Jack grits his teeth.

“I don’t know.”

You don’t know?” she asks incredulously.

“No, ma’am. I’ve not been here long, I don’t know their schedule. I just know they’re not going to come until after supper.”

Minerva McGonagall and her pointed green hat pause for a moment. Her eyes have gone slightly vary, her posture shifting with some feeling Jack can’t quite place. That doesn't make it good, it just means it’s not outright anger. Jack can spot a fight coming from a mile away, and right now, no senses are tingling.

“Perhaps we can go inside regardless, so you and I can talk, Mr Potter. I imagine you have some questions.”

Jack contemplates this for a moment before he nods. He was telling the truth, no one is due at the house for at least another two hours according to his watch. It was a departure gift from Mrs Wilson back in the day. It’s not fancy, but it has held up nicely, ticking steadedly like, well, like clockwork, Jack supposes.

They move inside, and Jack decides to put the kettle on for tea. Just on the off chance, that he might be able to change the already lacking regard professor McGonagall seem to have for him. When he has a pot of earl grey steeping, he shows her to the living room. The decor is quite nauseating, brown furniture and nicotine yellow walls, that were perhaps white sometime before the war. The smell of cigarettes hangs eternal in the air. Jack doesn’t care, it’s still not worst living room he’s ever stayed in, but the professor does wrinkle her nose.

Jack sits down on the couch. McGonagall chooses a chair. She somehow manages to look dignified in spite of the cat hairs now sticking to her robes from the furniture. Jack is reluctantly impressed - he hasn’t ever meet an adult that commands this much respect before. She reminds him a bit of Nick.

“Um, would you like some tea, professor?” Jack can do this, he definitely can. He can manage to be polite to one adult for an hour or two. He plays nice with Mr Ives all the time. It can’t be that different from dealing with his caseworker, though McGonagall does seems rather more prickly.

“Yes please, Mr Potter.” McGonagall sips the tea quitely, politely, maddeningly. Jack wants to shout, just to disturb the silence. “How long have you stayed with this family?”

“It’ll be three weeks this Friday, ma’am.”

“Hm.” She puts down her cup, regards him (still quietly) for a moment. Jack sits on his hands to avoid fidgeting - he doesn’t want to show weakness in from of a stern Scottish witch, especially not one that carries herself like she eats disrespectful boys like Jack for breakfast. “And I suppose you’ll not be staying with them for long?” Jack nods, there’s no need to sugar coat it. He’ll be out of here come autumn.

McGonagall leans back, seemingly satisfied. Jack feels like he might have just passed a test. “Well, I suppose they need not be involved in this, then. You’re a wizard, Mr Potter. You have been invited to Hogwarts so that you can learn to use your magic. Do you accept?”

God, this is happening too quickly. He’s known about Hogwarts for less than a day, and now he has to decide whether he want to uproot his entire life, rough though it might be, abandon the friends that he’s quite sure he loves, all to go to some weird school, in a place he doesn’t even know where is, to learn _magic_? And he has to decide without talking to _anyone_? Hell, even old Stone would be welcome right now, thick though he might be.

Jack needs to think, which means Jack needs to stall.

“Erm, professor, not to be disrespectful or anything, I promise, but this all sounds a bit wild to me. Can you show me some magic? Just so I know you’re not having me on.” Jack is glad he’s still sitting on his hands, otherwise they’d be all over the place after that spiel.

“Indeed, Mr Potter?” McGonagall raised her eyebrow again - it seems to be a habit - but this time there’s a glint of humour in her eyes. “Very well,” she says, draws a wand from a seemingly invisible pocket and waves it in Jack’s direction. She says some weird word, a spell of some sort, and suddenly Jack isn’t sitting on a ratty, cat hair covered, brown couch anymore, but giant turtle. What.

Jack grabs the edge of the shell beneath his bum tightly to avoid falling off. It’s not a position very conducive to thinking, but he doesn’t really need to anymore. Jack wants to be able to turn a couch into a turtle. If magic can do that, it must be capable of all sorts of things. Maybe he really _can_ shoot Broker off into space. That would be wicked!

“How did you do that?” Jacks words rush out, earlier apprehension completely forgotten in his excitement. He leans back to inspect the turtle shell acting as a seat, before turning back to the professor with big eyes. For the first time since Jack initially snapped at her, her face seems to soften a bit. Jack figures magic is awesome even if you’re a fully fledged professor in the subject.

“It’s called transfiguration, the art of turning one thing into another. You will learn it if you choose to attend Hogwarts. In fact, it is the subject I teach.” She waves her wand again, and the turtle turns back into a brown couch, though Jack notices it’s decidedly cleaner now. “Have you made your decision?”

Jack thinks for a moment about his friends. Noor, Pete and Nick all said he should go. They all said they would stick by him. For life.

“Yeah, I’d like to go.”

*

Professor McGonagall stays for a long while. Jack makes them sandwiches for dinner, and the professor tells him about all sorts of things. Like transfiguration and flying and making other things fly, and pumpkin juice, which is a thing, and the Vixen world, where robes are the norm and you communicate through owls.

Jack tells her about school. Not about how gets in trouble a lot, but about how he’s top of his class. The professor asks if he likes studying, and Jack contemplates this a bit before saying no. He just knows it’s important, for the future and such. And also, so he can prove all the arseholes wrong; the ones that look at a foster kid with only a backpack to his name and immediately decide he’s going to end up in prison, or the gutter, or probably both. He’ll show them, and if that means diligently doing all of his homework to perfection and reading extra materials, then he’ll do it without complaint.

By the time the old man comes home, Jack has come to quite like McGonagall. Sure, she’s strict, but she doesn’t seem unfair, which is already a lot better than almost every other adult Jack knows. Jack can feel in his gut that she will treat him with respect if he does the same for her. Jack promises himself that he’s going to try.

Stone doesn’t seem disturbed at having a stranger in his living room with the young kid he’s supposed to take care off. McGonagall moves to reassure him regardless.

“Good evening, Mr Stone. My name is Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress at Hogwarts Academy. I do apologise for entering your home when you were not here, but Jack assured me you would not mind. I have come to offer Mr Potter a place at Hogwarts, on a stipend from the Bones Fund for At Risk Youth. He has already accepted - if this is in accordance with your wishes, of course?”

Stone stares at McGonagall for a second, before seemingly realising that he’s still in his coat, keys in hand. He grunts, gets to work on removing his over clothes, before looking at Jack.

“Ya wanna go, lad?”

“Yes, Mr Stone.”

”Alright, then,” says Stone and moves for the telly remote and the couch, which bears no sign of having been a turtle just an hour earlier. He turns on some inane comedy show, and then seemingly forgets about the quite intimidating witch standing in his house; bless him and his oblivious heart. He often forgets that Jack is not an actual adult, and is, thus, technically not meant to make decisions for himself.

McGonagall turns to Jack, once again with raised eyebrows, as if to ask ‘really?’, before speaking in a low tone.

“Meet me on this address Friday, 11 o’clock.” She hands him a slip of parchment, the same stiff paper that his Hogwarts letter is written on. “I have a few more students without wizarding parents to visit this week, but I’ll take all of you along to Diagon Alley to shop for your necessities.”

Jack takes the address and shoves in his backpack with all his other important things, before straightening up and offering the professor a hand. Respect, respect, respect - it runs a refrain in his mind. “It was really nice to meet you, professor McGonagall. I’m looking forward to Friday.”

“Indeed, Mr Potter.” McGonagall seems to appreciate his effort as she briefly shakes Jack’s hand.

Young eyes follow her green pointed hat out of the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please leave a kudos if you like it, and a comment if you really liked it - they keep me motivated <3
> 
> Up next: Jack goes to Diagon Alley and McGonagall meets Martin Ives. Enter right; HERMIONE GRANGER pursued by dentists.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, please feed me kudos if you liked it <3
> 
> More to come!


End file.
